Real
by Idan
Summary: Tag to Scarlett Fever, 1x15. Jane believes in the therapeutic value of make believe, but sometimes he needs something real.
**Disclaimer** : None of this belongs to me. It's just a loving homage to a show I desperately miss. Oh, and the opinion of the eatery in this story is Jane's, not mine. :)

 **Author's Note** : Can you stand another fic where Lisbon and Jane talk after the case? If not, you should probably skip this.

* * *

Darkness had fallen before Jackie came to fetch Rigsby, much to the amusement of his colleagues, Jane included. But that was several hours ago. Van Pelt had gone home on time for once, and Cho had followed shortly after. With the case closed, this time without breaking any rules, their reports were easily written and turned in. Only Lisbon remained, doing her management thing. Soon she'd be done, and she'd probably stop by his couch on the way out to say goodnight. Then he'd be alone.

Well, not really. There was always someone at the CBI, teams on call or working hot cases. But they wouldn't be his team, so he might as well be alone. Alone with his ghosts.

The killer, Heather the bereaved mother, had unsettled him. Her raw grief and deadly rage were mirrors to his own. In her shoes he would have done the same. Rat poison for a rat poisoning the children of the community, a fitting end, yes. He admired the symbolism.

And yet there was young Oscar, who would miss his mother his whole life. He would never believe he and his father were better off without a drug dealer in the house. To him she was the woman who'd loved and nurtured him and been taken away before he'd known her as anything else. To him, she was an angel. To Heather, she was the killer who'd robbed her of her beautiful daughter.

Perception is reality. Jane knew that as well as anyone.

It bothered him, though. Was Red John, his beloved daughter's killer, someone's beloved father? Would his own vengeance make him the villain in someone else's story?

No. A man who murdered women brutally so he could hear them beg for mercy—and who had killed a little girl simply out of spite—must be a psychopath. He wouldn't be able to show true kindness or selfless love. He wouldn't be truly close to anyone, except maybe another psychopath. He'd have to hide his true self from the world.

Much like the showman Jane had been, he admitted. Except he'd had someone to ground him, to come home to when the spotlights were turned off. He'd had Angela.

Without her, he was adrift. Unhinged, a little, as he'd said to Heather. But at least he knew now that all the glitter, the keeping up appearances and social striving, was utterly empty and worthless. It wasn't real.

That was why he liked Lisbon and her team. They weren't concerned with appearances, wealth, or power; they simply wanted to help people by catching bad guys. They were genuine. The carnie world would call them marks, but Jane had come to appreciate them. They were helping him not just because it was their job, but because they cared about him. They wanted justice for him, even if they disapproved of personal vengeance.

Angela would have liked them. She'd have admired Van Pelt for being lovely inside as well as outside, and she'd have shared Jane's amusement at Rigsby's earnest but ineffective not-quite-wooing. Cho, with his bluntness and integrity, would have delighted her. And she would have adored Lisbon's sassy spunk.

His advice to Oscar to make believe he could talk to his mother was the product of so many lonely nights made bearable only by imagining Angela's commentary on the cases and people he was involved with. Tonight would be no exception. He lay on his couch and imagined her sitting there with him, her eyes twinkling with amusement and her lips curved in the carefree smile he'd loved.

"Case closed," her ghost congratulated him. "Nice job. I hope she'll get off, though. Temporary insanity, maybe. She's got a good heart."

"Yes," he said to her in his mind. "That was why the trick worked. The childless mother couldn't watch the motherless child suffer."

She gave him a look that was so full of love it broke his heart. "And the childless father couldn't either. That was how you knew it would work."

"Yeah." He swallowed down his grief.

"Poor Paddy," she sighed. "You're just like Oscar, you know. You use that smile like he uses his costumes, to hide from reality."

"Whatever works."

"You were so good with him." She smiled sadly. "You should be a father again, Patrick. I hope you'll have a little boy someday to play with."

"I don't deserve another chance," he told her firmly. Failing one child was bad enough; two would destroy him.

"Everybody deserves a second chance. Even you."

"I don't want one." He felt petulant and disgruntled. Why was he arguing with a figment of his imagination? Besides his self-loathing, of course.

The sad truth was, though, that he'd spent a lot of time arguing with her, especially the last couple of years of her life. They were both opinionated and intelligent, so a certain amount of disagreement was inevitable. Desirable, even.

"You always did love a good argument," his imagined Angela said wryly. "And now you have Lisbon to argue with. I'm glad. But she thinks you're just an ass, you know. She doesn't realize you do it to feel connected."

"I do it to feel, period," he admitted. The numbness was worse than the pain, sometimes.

"I know." Of course she did. Even if she weren't just in his head, she'd always known him better than anyone. "And here she comes. Be nice!"

Jane grinned a little as he opened his eyes to find Lisbon looking down at him. "I'm headed out," she said. "You're not staying, are you?"

"No," he said, because that was what she wanted to hear.

She cocked her head, looking closely at him. He made sure his expression was calm, devoid of clues, but she remained unconvinced. "Okay. See you tomorrow," she said after a while.

Jane felt oddly deflated as she walked away. That was it? He'd been hoping she would insist on him getting up, or offer to share dinner, or something. She was usually more concerned with his wellbeing.

He grimaced as he realized he'd grown to rely on her to keep his loneliness at bay. He deserved his loneliness. Why should he demand that she give up her time to keep him company?

Wait. Was she preoccupied? The case had been straightforward, with no emotional land mines—save for his, of course. Hadn't it?

Damn it. He'd been so self-absorbed he'd missed the parallels the case had for Lisbon. Mother dead suddenly, slightly clueless father left to cope with a grieving child: yes, that might well have stirred memories for her. And he'd made it worse with his ploy, having the father hauled off to a police car while Oscar pretended to be distraught. It didn't stretch belief that her father might have gotten caught driving drunk at least once, or that she might secretly have hoped he would so someone might step in and force him to get help. And distraught young boys would have been the focus of her life as a teenager.

Jane swung his legs off the couch and got up, just as he heard the elevator door close. He hurried down the hall and pressed the button, bouncing on his toes as he waited for it to return and hoping Lisbon would stop to chat with the night guard.

She wasn't at the exit, though. He went out into the parking lot and looked around, spotting her car easily. She was in the driver's seat but hadn't started the engine yet. She was sitting with her head bowed. Praying maybe?

Jane hurried over and pulled open the passenger door, sliding into the seat as Lisbon gasped in surprise and grabbed for her gun. "It's just me," he assured her, holding up his hands.

"Geez, Jane!" Lisbon let go of her gun and laid a hand on her heart. "I thought you were still inside. What are you doing?"

"Taking you to dinner. Well, you're driving obviously, so I should say treating you to dinner."

She frowned at him. "Why? And don't you think you should have asked me first?"

"In reverse order, no, because you might have some silly excuse for not eating with me, and because we didn't get a chance to celebrate closing the case, what with Rigsby's hot date and all."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly have a valid reason for not wanting to go to dinner? Maybe I'm tired. Maybe I have a date." She glared, daring him to laugh.

"Unlikely, since you couldn't be sure my plan would work. Though really, by now you should have more faith. And yes, you may be tired, but you still need to eat."

She started the car. "Seat belt," she ordered tersely.

Jane grinned and obeyed. He opened his mouth to suggest a destination, but Lisbon spoke before he could.

"Now that the case is over, I want to circle back to the hypnotism thing."

"Must we?" He affected a weary expression. "You're always saying we have to cooperate with your fellow law enforcement officers. I thought you'd be pleased I helped out."

"By breaking the law? Jane, I am responsible for your actions involving the CBI, whether I directed them or not. Your unethical behavior reflects on me. Badly, in case you need to be told."

"Oh, please. Nobody holds you responsible for what the Organized Crime guys asked me to do."

"Minelli does."

Jane rolled his eyes. "He does not."

"Oh? You've asked him?" she scoffed.

"No, but I will. And if he gives me the wrong answer, I'll change his mind." Jane chuckled, picturing the conversation. "Possibly through hypnosis."

"Don't you dare!" She stopped the car at a red light and shot him an angry look. "And stop pretending you don't understand how hierarchies work."

"I do understand how they work. But you forget, your particular hierarchy knows how I work."

Her lips pursed. "Knowing and allowing it to pass without comment are two different things."

"True. But you hold the moral high ground, my dear. You didn't hire me; Minelli did. Feel free to remind him if he lectures you about my methods."

Lisbon snorted. "Yeah, that'd go over well."

"It'd be fun though."

"You have a very strange idea of fun," she grumbled as the light turned green.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"It's a surprise."

"You hate surprises."

"When I'm the one surprised, yes. But you love them, or so you claim." There was something in her tone that told him he wouldn't be pleasantly surprised.

"Just so long as you keep in mind that I can hardly afford Chez Etienne on the pittance you pay me," he said in a desperate shot at reverse psychology.

"Oh, so you aren't planning to hypnotize the waiter into comping the meal?"

"Well, now that you mention it," he smirked.

"No. More. Hypnotism. I mean it, Jane."

"Fine. You won't find me doing it again." He'd just make sure she didn't catch him.

"I better not." She was clearly not falling for his vague promise. He liked that about her. Inconvenient as it could be, he needed someone to call him on his BS occasionally. Otherwise he'd get cocky and lazy, either one of which could get him killed before he achieved his goal.

As she pulled into a parking lot, he lost his smugness. "Lisbon," he protested in horror. "No. I beg you, anywhere but...this."

She grinned. "When you invite me to dinner, you can pick the place. When you announce that I have to go to dinner with you, I pick the place. Besides, this way I know you can afford it."

Jane reluctantly got out of the car and followed her toward the Taco Bell. "If you want Mexican, Manuel's isn't far from here," he tried.

"I don't want Mexican. I want Taco Bell," she replied over her shoulder, pulling the door open.

He caught it, following her inside and wincing at the menu while he tried to ignore the garish decor. After she ordered, he opted for a taco salad and water, since there was no tea option. Then they sat down in a plastic booth to wait for their order number.

Jane had to give her points for creativity in turning his offer into a punishment for him. And if she enjoyed it, then his original purpose of making sure she wasn't brooding was accomplished. That was worth a little suffering.

Besides, the people watching here was fascinating, he had to admit. There was a group of teenagers, which he'd expected, but also an elderly couple, which he hadn't. Two moms sat wearily at a table across the place while a flock of children ran around the tables playing a game whose rules he couldn't work out at first glance. And an older man in a business suit occupied a booth across from a teenager with his nose who was wolfing down a taco and ignoring him as he tried to talk to her.

They were normal people on a normal night, he realized, in search of a cheap, quick meal as they went about their lives. They weren't victims or suspects or witnesses, at least at the moment. It was good to be reminded that not everyone was in the throes of a tragedy.

He had a flash of memory: him and Angela as teenagers, stealing away from the carnival and pretending to be normal kids on their Saturday night date. It had been another chain, but he remembered how much Angela had enjoyed being surrounded by regular people going about their humdrum lives.

Lisbon was looking around, smiling at the playing children. Then she turned back to him. "I think Victor and Oscar will be okay. They're going back to his hometown, where they'll have family to help."

"Good," Jane replied. He was glad she seemed optimistic about their prospects. She often worried about children with single fathers, understandably considering her own experience.

"And I think Heather has a good shot at an insanity plea," she continued. "She'll certainly garner sympathy from a jury."

"Yes, she will." Jane watched a little girl hide under a table, then spring out to startle an older boy.

Lisbon was silent until their number was called, then got up to get the food. When she returned, Jane accepted his taco shell covered in sour cream without enthusiasm. He hoped there were some vegetables under there, but he doubted seeing them would reassure him.

"It won't kill you," Lisbon chided, tearing into her burrito.

"If it does, at least you'll know whom to arrest," he grumbled, eyeing the teens in the kitchen area with misgivings. "I prefer to entrust my food preparation to people who can legally drink. Though in this case, I use the word 'food' loosely."

"Hey, I didn't force you to come with me," she pointed out.

"Point taken, Lisbon. Next time I won't take your cooperation with my dinner plans for granted."

"Good."

He gingerly took a bite. It was edible, he was relieved to find. Lisbon was halfway through her burrito already, which wasn't surprising since she'd skipped lunch.

His treasured memories of meals with Angela were comforting, but this meal, as average as it was, at least nourished his body as well as his heart. Sort of. It would be easy to pretend he was just like the people around them, enjoying a fast meal with a pretty lady. A fair maiden, as he'd told Oscar, though he was hardly a knight or even a musketeer. But that was okay. She was a knight in her own right.

She was better, in fact, than any ally he could have dreamed up. She was the single piece of evidence he had in his current life that reality could be better than make believe.

"You should treat her better," imaginary Angela whispered in his ear.

Of course he should. But he couldn't. He didn't want Red John to suspect that his CBI colleagues were anything more than useful tools to him. Especially Lisbon.

Lisbon was looking at him in concern as she unwrapped her soft taco. "You okay?"

"Never better." He forced a smile. "At least until the indigestion kicks in."

"Ha, ha. Well, remember that next time you drag me to dinner."

"Oh, I will." He smiled, imagining the ways he could get back at her for this. Though maybe he would let her have this one. After all, he was having a pretty good time.

Lisbon narrowed her eyes at him over her mouthful of taco. There was a streak of sour cream at one corner of her mouth, spreading as she chewed, and she looked adorable.

She wasn't the woman in his dreams, but she was real. And that was more than he deserved.

He smiled and held up his cup of water. "To closed cases."

Lisbon held up her soda and touched it to his cup. "Without any complaint paperwork."

"Details, details. You're so picky," he chuckled.

"I have high standards," she countered.

"And yet you eat here."

She smirked. "And now, so do you."

"Touché." He beamed at her.

Yes, he would let her have this one. It was the least she deserved.


End file.
